She crosses her arms and glares out of the window. She can still feel the imprint of his fingers around her upper arm, from when he dragged her to one of the many guest bedrooms in his house. She doesn't need to turn around to know that he's leaning against the closed door with his own arms folded, because that's just what he'd do in this situation.

She lets out a sigh and resists the urge to stamp her foot. She doesn't know why he's so angry. It's not his place to get angry about who she spends her time with. It shouldn't matter to him who she's slept with in the past, because their relationship is nothing to do with that.

Nothing, she repeats in her head, absolutely nothing.

"He's my best friend," he growls, and his voice is much nearer than she anticipated. Glancing over her shoulder she sees he's prowling towards her, hands stuffed in his pockets and his muscles bunched.

"Yes, and he's a friend of mine, too. I really don't see the problem here," she throws at him, looking back out of the window.

"And I thought you were the smart one," he snarls in response. He's right behind her. She can feel his breath on the back of her neck, and she feels penned in. She feels like an animal that's being hunted.

She whips around, glaring at him. He's the one of the only people she knows that is her age and is taller than her. She's tall, for a girl – six foot three – and he's a couple of inches taller than that. It's nice, for once, to be looking someone in the eye.

"Back off," she says, voice harsh. "You've never got involved with this part of my life before and I don't know why you're getting involved now, you self-righteous, hypocritical prick –"

"I've never got involved before because you never did anything before," he tells her. She reaches out and places her hands upon his muscular chest, shoving him backwards.

"I told you to back off," she says sharply. "Give me some space, here."

"I'd expect this of my sister," he carries on as if she never spoke, or even pushed him. "I'd expect it of Roz, of Lissie, but of you? He's...I just...Of all the people..."

"He was there."

"Not good enough," he hisses. "He's not good enough. Not good enough for you. He took your virginity and that's...He's not good enough," he repeats finally, appearing to have run out of things to say.

She barks out a laugh. "And I suppose you can think of anyone better? He's a lovely man and I trust him –"

"You can trust me," he says quietly, cutting her off completely.

She stares at him, touching her mouth with her fingertips. She winces. "Oh, please, don't," she whispers. "Don't."

"We can't avoid it," he murmurs, voice just as soft. He takes a step towards her, and she takes one backwards, hitting the wall behind her.

"You're telling me that you're good enough?"

"No." He shakes his head, black hair falling in his eyes. "Definitely not. Obviously, I'm the worst of all."

"Then..." She lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

He shrugs. "I'm a very selfish person," he reminds her. "And so are you," he adds as an afterthought. "We both know it."

His mouth comes down over hers, and she's lost: she can't think of anything other than him and how good it feels to be in his arms at last. Her heart pounds and her blood rushes, and she clings to him desperately.

Eventually, they pull away from one another, gazing into each other's eyes. He looks hopeful, but she just feels sick. It was so wrong but felt so right, she thought to herself.

He steps away, pushing his hand through his hair. He looks distraught, now, hope gone from his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, moving faster backwards.

She looks out of the window, biting her lip, and then turns to follow him. She reaches out one hand to stop him from leaving. "I want you," she blurts.

He turns, staring at her as if she's gone crazy. She thinks she might have.

"But –" He starts, but she presses a finger to his lips to silence him.

"One night," she whispers. "Just one."

"One," he echoes, taking her in his arms. "But our parents...my sister..."

"Not now," she murmurs into the crook of his neck. "For tonight, can we just...pretend that we're not ourselves? Pretend we're someone else."

He holds her at arms length, staring deep into her bright silver eyes. He nods, once, agreeing to her request.

"Okay," he says aloud. "Just for tonight."

And then they're kissing, fumbling their way towards the bed nearby, and he's slipping the black jacket from her shoulders as his lips press to her throat...

In the light of the morning, she'll wake before him, holding the sheets to her chest as she watches her sleeping lover with sad eyes. She'll carefully climb out of bed, careful not to wake him, and dress in last night's clothes. Memories will press into her consciousness, but she'll refuse to focus on them.

Then she'll walk out of his room, but not out of his life, because fortunately, they will always be a part of each other's life – just not in the way they want. And she'll begin to see that night as a mistake because – as brilliant as she felt it was – she now knows what it's like to be with him in the way she wants, and knowing that she can never have that is hard to live with.

She should never have stopped him. She should have just left it at the kiss. Life would have been so much easier from then on if she'd done what she should have.

A/N: Partly written to a time limit. Not much editing done, sorry for any mistakes. I'll leave it up to the readers to decide what's going on here, apart from the obvious. I wanted it to be vague.